


aftershock

by rwbyfics



Category: RWBY
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 17:42:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6019138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rwbyfics/pseuds/rwbyfics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>noun  \-ˌshäk\<br/>1<br/>:  an aftereffect of a distressing or traumatic event<br/>2<br/>:  a minor shock following the main shock of an earthquake</p>
            </blockquote>





	aftershock

Glynda’s Aura wavers.

It’s a sensation unfamiliar to her; it’s like she’s one wrong step away from falling down, from having the world tilt off of its axis. After the attack, she stays inside the empty city, hunts Grimm that stray from their pack, searches the rubble of the Vault for Ozpin’s remains when she can. Beacon, her home, is overrun with Grimm. For now, she stays in Ironwood’s makeshift headquarters, where he houses the rest of his associates and fledgling prototypes for new weaponry. She watches him toil over firewalls that will never fall, watches him try to adapt and regain his footing, get two steps ahead again. Half of the damage done to the inner city was from his infected Atlesian guards; Glynda notices him tense whenever the infamous software override is brought up over news broadcasts.

The CCT is useless, but once in awhile, they’ll pick up a shaky signal from their radios. Ironwood is a popular topic for discussion.

“He expected us to entrust the safety of our children and families with these monstrosities, to have them on the forefront of our military bases? I wouldn’t be surprised if the General wasn’t a conspirator from the begin – ”

Glynda switches off the radio with one twist of her fingertips.

It’s late in the evening, and Ironwood’s eyes are shot through with unease and shame. He can’t meet her gaze in the firelight, but she continues to watch him. Penny Polendina’s breastplate and inner wiring are bared in his lap. She’d fetched a piece for him to examine on her last excursion out of the house. She knows he blames himself. She thinks it's stupid. How could he have seen that it would go this wrong?

“James,” She says, and the look he gives her reminds her of Ozpin so much, her stomach coils. All sleepy eyes and rumpled hair and tiredness so tangible that she could drink it in. She could vomit. Instead, she swallows her pride and bares her throat in this stupid game of tug-of-war they've been playing for almost as long as they've known each other. “Will you come to bed?”

Glynda poses it as a question, but she ensures that the look in her eyes keeps it from being up to debate. Strong hands, veined and flexed, pause in their action. Slowly, quietly, Ironwood sets down his work, and follows Glynda out of the room. They will let the fire die out, just to know that it can.

–

The pain in Blake’s side aches far more than she expected.

Sun starts stitching her up in the courtyard of Beacon, just a few feet from where she had met Weiss and Ruby for the first time. That feels like a different life, one that she doesn't deserve to even know. She grits her teeth against the pierce of a dulled sewing needle – courtesy of Coco’s kit - and stares at Yang, horizontal from her, with blood staining the entire right side of her jacket and shorts.

Velvet manages to staunch the blood flowing from her arm with a makeshift tourniquet, but still, she looks so pale, eyes closed, quiet, too quiet. Her hand feels stiff and cold around the fingertips in Blake’s. Blake chokes back a sob. Sun’s hand steadies her when her chest heaves a little too fast. She looks up at him, fervid for comfort. He smoothes her hair back, a bit shaky, and his warmth is welcome to her, like a brother’s.

“She’ll be okay,” He says under his breath, like a mantra now. “She’ll be okay.”

“She’ll never forgive me.” Blake croaks.

“You didn’t do this to her.”

“Yes, I did!” She cries, and folds into herself in shame and pain. “She didn’t have to save me. She didn’t have to love me.”

Sun stitches an uneven line of black into her side and says, “Yang doesn’t love you because she’s being forced to. She loves you because she wants to be with you, even though you can’t seem to wrap your head around that.” He stops for a second, loops another line, and speaks again, a little softer this time. “You love her too. It’s easy to see.”

“She won’t love me now.” Blake’s crying like a child now, without shame, and the tears streak down the side of her face, chasing paths of grime against her skin.

Sun laughs despite himself.

“I don’t think there’s anything you could do that could make Yang fall out of love with you.”

There are words unspoken between them. _Except leave_. Sun’s watching her expectantly now, as if trying to force the words out of her, a promise that she won’t abandon them. Blake buries her head into the side of her arm and sniffles. It’s exactly what she intends to do, so she stays silent.

- 

Pyrrha’s family meets them at Haven. Their journey has become more of a funeral procession by the time they reach Mistral; the emerald green of their rivers and the autumnal red of the roadside flowers remind them all of Pyrrha. Ruby stops to pick a bouquet for the Nikos family. She’d gotten a hold of them and asked to meet with them. She thinks that they deserve to know the full story, to know how their daughter fought when others were too scared to.

They meet at Haven Academy. It’s far different from Beacon, but they barely have any time to take it in. They find a nearby coffee shop to sit in and start to talk. Jaune forces himself to meet the eye of each member of Pyrrha’s family, to look at them and chase each resemblance of her feature and beauty in theirs. He tries to be brave for once, for her. They all look strong and gold and overcome with grief. Her parents come with objects that they would have used to bury her; Pyrrha's funeral shroud and fine oil for her temples and a heavy gold coin to press under her tongue.

When Pyrrha's mother spreads these onto the table, Pyrrha’s father has to step outside and collect himself.

Ruby weeps into her sleeve, squeezes her eyes shut until fat tears slide down her cheeks. Nora and Ren share their stories with Pyrrha’s family, and they trade large enough pieces of memory to tide their grief over for now. Together, they mourn. Together, they remember Pyrrha.

“I always thought I’d never have to say goodbye to her. A mother is never supposed to outlive her daughter.” Pyrrha’s mother says. She’s dressed in all black, a scarf covering the dark red strands of her hair. “And now that I have to, it’s harder now that I don’t have any piece of her to hold.”

“She’s here,” Ruby says, reaching across to table to take her hand and press it against her chest. “She lives in us, because she loved us.” From around the table, a chorus of murmured agreement comes. Ruby meets eyes with Jaune. “She loved us all.”

Jaune cries then, cries like he’s never cried before.

The solid press of her body against his, hands slick with nervous sweat, face damp with tears – first and last contact. He loved her, but he’d been too blind to know before.

- 

Qrow visits Glynda and Ironwood a month after the attack.

He sits in the cramped, hot, dim room that’s been serving as their main living quarters, gripping Ozpin’s cane, white-knuckled. New scars line his face and forearms, and some look like direct gouges into his flesh. His eyes are wary and jumpy, like a caged animal’s.

Ironwood starts to make tea with a battered kettle, but ends up failing miserably, until Glynda stands up and starts to help. Qrow watches from his seat across the room, watchful and quiet. His eyes flash to each point of contact between them; Glynda’s hand brushing across Ironwood’s knuckles when she takes the kettle from him, the bump of elbows in the cramped galley kitchen, Ironwood’s toes brushing the backs of Glynda’s shoes when he follows her back into the room.

“You two have been fucking,” He says hoarsely when they both return to sit in front of him.

Ironwood colors immediately, but Glynda cracks a smile.

“You’ve always lacked tact, James.” She chides.

“Deflection isn’t the same as denying, Glynda. I'm guessing that I'm right."

“Why is it any of your business?” Ironwood snaps, a bit put off. The bickering is back in place, but Glynda feels hollow without Ozpin’s anchoring gaze settled on hers, his mouth quirked into a knowing smile from across the room. He was her quiet in the eye of the storm. Qrow and James are still fighting, and now Ironwood’s standing and jabbing his finger into the lapel of Qrow’s stained shirt.

“You’re jealous because you haven’t been invited.” Glynda says slowly, like she’s made a revelation. “Aren’t you?”

Qrow bristles, puffs his chest, flushes to the tops of his ears. He sputters a bit like the kettle when Ironwood had been trying to make tea.

“Qrow,” Glynda sighs tiredly. “We’ve all been lonely.”

He stares at her, eyes flinty with held back tears.

"I know," He says defiantly.

She places her hand on his shoulder, keeps it there too long to be called friendly. After all, they’ve never really been friends. “I miss him.” She pauses, glances at Ironwood, who gives her a look of assurance. It’s not Ozpin’s, but it’s his and it’s different and she’s learning for it to be enough. “I know you do too.”

Qrow sighs a little shakily, looks at Ironwood, then turns to look at Glynda.

“Kiss me.” It’s more like he’s begging when he finally says it, but Glynda obliges, eases her tongue against the seam of his mouth, holds him a little tighter when he cries into her. She pulls away, wipes his cheeks, and suddenly, Ironwood is there, anchoring her and him at the same time, because he’s strong enough, and then he’s kissing Qrow, and they’re sinking into each other like they’re starved for touch, and maybe this is their way of grieving, of mourning the loss of everything that they’ve known. They have to fill empty space with the absence of it, and for a second, Glynda forgets all, and lets herself be touched.

-

Yang's just tired.

She’s not mad, she’s tired. She’s tired of fighting and pretending that she's strong enough to be on her own. Maybe it hurts a little that she wasn’t worth staying for, that Blake left just like she always did, left her like she was Adam, even though she would never hurt her. (Maybe it hurts a lot).

Tai almost tears down the house when he finds out Ruby’s left for Mistral. Call it intuition, but Yang knew that Ruby would be leaving even before her baby sister snuck into her room past midnight and tucked a kiss into her hairline, like _she_ was the older sister. It was wrong, it was all wrong.

Yang was supposed to be strong enough to hold both of them upright.

It feels like everyone has already healed. Everyone is ready to rebuild, with or without her. For her, the pain is still fresh, her wounds are ripe, and she hasn’t even started healing yet.

Sometimes, she wakes up screaming, crying, calling for Blake, for Weiss and Ruby, for Summer, hysterical until Tai runs in, holds her until her limbs stops convulsing, until the black and red eyes disappear from the shallowest pools of her closet. He grabs her, holds her in the hollow of his chest until everything eases, and she can breathe again and all there is is gold and soft and blue light of dawn filtering in through her windows.

She used to be gold and soft and light. She’s not sure if she ever will be again.

-

Weiss numbs herself to Atlas when she returns.

The estate feels like a coat that fits one size too small, especially when she’s just been in Beacon, with her team. Father tries to initiate conversation multiple times, pokes and prods at her to get her to reciprocate, but she stays silent, just watches the spires of her old house become larger and larger, snow tipped and glazed over with ice rimes.

“This is where you belong, Weiss.” Father says when he stands to disembark the Air Ship. Weiss tears her eyes away from the window and draws an indignant breath.

“No. You’re wrong.”

He turns in the red-carpeted aisle to face her.

“Believe me when I say that I would rather be with my team, facing inevitable death, than here, in Atlas with you. _That_ is where I belong. You may try to fool yourself otherwise, but I know the truth.” She spits. Her father draws his mouth into a narrow line and leaves without another word.

Weiss stays in the Air Ship for a few more minutes, stares at the sleek skyline of Atlas. If she squints hard enough, she thinks that she can see Vale, but it’s hard to tell now that the CCT’s been demolished. Her stomach twists; she should be there now, picking up the pieces, trying to get things in order. She should be with her team. On the horizon to her right, Atlas Hall stands, cold, imposing.

Atlas is everything that she is not anymore.

She stands slowly, points and flexes her feet in their torn stockings to urge feeling back into them again. One step at a time, she thinks, ignoring the faint buzzing in her head as she steps outside into the cold. She’ll find her way back to her team again.

-

The walk up the hillside is hard, especially in the snow. To Ruby, it’s nothing. The small inconvenience is a small price to pay for her small moment of peace, to get to the place where she’s certain of everything for a few seconds. Jaune, Ren, and even Nora are panting, brushing cold sweat off their foreheads.

When they reach the top, they catch their breaths and pause, watch as Ruby steps forward.

Ruby presses her palm against her mother’s headstone, wipes some of the snow away from the engraving and kneels. “Hi, Ma.” She says, gently tracing the rose with the tips of her fingers. They’ve already gone numb from the cold. Her heartbeat pulsates in her ears, loud and red and sharp. Behind her, she can hear Jaune, Ren, and Nora shifting in the snow from the cold. They can wait for Summer. The world would have waited for Summer.

“So much has changed.” Her eyes blur for a moment, then she sniffs back her tears. “I feel kind of broken, Mom. I think you’d know what to do if you were here. I think you’d be able to change things. You could probably make this right again. I miss you.” She presses the back of her hand up her runny nose. “But I’m trying, Mom. I’m really trying to make you proud here. And I’m going to try and help as many people as I can.” Across the hilltops, snow falls in gentle, cleansing banks. “I love you. I miss you.”

Ruby presses a kiss to the center of the rose, and stands. There’s so much left to be done.


End file.
